


A New Lease for an Old Goat

by ZigZagSpecialist



Category: Furry (Fandom), Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Build, slow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:15:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28431528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZigZagSpecialist/pseuds/ZigZagSpecialist
Summary: An original character growing romance between Toriel.[Tangentially related at best, but someone wanted Boss monster/Caprine, so I'm doing me best]
Kudos: 6





	A New Lease for an Old Goat

"The story doesn't start until the main character steps onto the page"

Peter blinked slowly and immediately regretted the decision as his eyes rewarded him with an intense burning. He didn't even realize he was staring that long. It didn't help that the old guy's tie looked like it was constantly shifting like snow on an old TV too close to a magnet. He straightened it and the silver threads danced in the light.

The old man smiled again, his moustache curling into spirals making the strange almost perfect 'D' grin seem even more ridiculous. It was all front teeth, a real Cheshire cat smile. The hiss of his huge flat cigar distracted from the grey, featureless downpour for a moment, the burning glow reflected off the glass walls.

Peter paused and cleared his suddenly dry throat, looking away to stare out at the pounding rain, then remembered why he looked away. The rain distorted everything making cars and people running by seem like twisting, squirming shapes rather than recognizable objects. He took a long breath as he leaned back, getting a noseful of the strangely fruity earthy smoke off his cigar. Voicing his displeasure he says the first thing that comes to mind:

"Those things will kill you, ya know?"

The old man raised an eyebrow in Peter's direction before shrugging his already high shoulders, taking a long drag and pulling the cigar away from his lips. After a short pause he exhaled, the cloud pouring upwards around his nose and the brim of his hat like the rain pouring down outside. He let out a wheezing, ticking kind of laugh, like a watch wound too tight.

"Perhaps! Maybe...maybe I should stop?" The old man mused to himself. With another dramatic shrug, the smile returned to his face as he stood up in the large and humid bus port.

"Tell you what kid! I'll make you a bet, don't fuck the next woman you see and I'll quit!" He let out a maniacal, cacophonous laugh and snipped the burning coal of the cigar into a dirty bucket that had been collecting rainwater.

Peter laughed humorlessly as the 'Bet' cast his mind back to his own situation. He rolled his eyes with a mumble: "yeah sure".

"It's a bet then! Have fun kid!" The old man cackled and howled like a Saturday morning villain as he vanished into the rain.

Peter, once again, alone with his thoughts scowled at the sudden silence more than the strangeness of his already fading acquaintance. "Fucking crazy freak.." he muttered. Then shook his own head, surprised by his own malice in the moment. He didn't mean it of course, but anxiety ate at him more than his own empty stomach. He curled over slowly to keep the shuddering cramps from doubling him over themselves. Before he could return to broiling in his own self-pity and dark thoughts, the sound of heels caught his attention. Someone certainly had somewhere to be if he could hear them over the rain.

The sound didn't stop, or pass him and suddenly a figure that could be positively glowing even in the low light of the buzzing bus stop light burst around the corner. Peter jumped in his seat, instinctively going for his massive pack next to him. The brilliant ghost that materialized in front of him was soaking wet, not a ghost then. Peter's eyes scanned upwards to assess.

Heels? Woman. 

Brilliant white fur? Anthro, some type of bear probably. 

Business suit with skirt? Business lady.

Breathing, hard, hot and fast? Panic? Peter sat up a few more inches.

Finally his eyes met her face. Recognition came immediately, which raised the heaving fear he saw in her features to the top of his priority list. Her violet eyes full of unsure panic, unfocused on him, but towards the area she had been running from. She stepped into the bus port and started to flex her claws. He recognized the smell of gathering fire magic...then she jumped and let out a small gasping yell as she focused on him. 

"AH! Oh! Goodness! Uhm-pardon me! I-uh..." she panted softly. Peter's nostrils flared as he half stood, half reaching into his bag for his old friend. Indignation rose up his throat faster than his heartburn. Who would DARE threaten a schoolteacher?! Before he could focus his rage, his fingers curled around the familar handle...and a THUD made them both jump. 

Even from the clouded and rain distorted windows, they watched three young men walk behind the bus port. One had slammed himself against the glass, laughing as he trotted away, the other two trailing with synchronized precision. One of them dragging a harsh claw along the glass, scoring the thick surface. But they passed without incident and vanished laughing. Peter's heart calmed enough and his hand fell away from the gun, slipping out of the rucksack. 

"Oh...OH!" Tori ruffled, her wet matted fur standing on end as she let out a rare show of upset. "Honestly! Someone should teach those boys something about manners!" She snorted and huffed, a light stomp to accentuate her outburst.

Then her eyes whirled around to him again and she actually appeared to shrink a little. 

"Oh dear! I apologize, i..I hope I didn't startle you! I was walking and then I heard those ruffians behind me and--" she let out a small sigh before a long inhale and refocused.

A sharp shiver ran through her, now her adrenaline spent. Peter managed to squash a smile, feeling that unfamilar feeling creeping back into his chest like a hand threatening to grip his heart. His shook it away as he rushed into his bag and fluidly held out a large, cold towel to her.

"Its clean I promise" he nodded with a small sheepish cough to clear his throat. But as the words left his lips, shame and anger roiled in the depths of his stomach as vague recollection crossed her appraising gaze.

"Thank you.." she started, even as she took the towel. Peter felt naked, dissected in moments. 

He recalled all the times he felt that way under her gaze in better circumstances. Times he could laugh away, times he had pride and not so much anger in his mouth and something in his stomach.

He managed to sit down further away from her, Toriel more focused on drying herself for the moment. Peter's nose twitched as he inhaled, trying to take in all that delicious smell as it passed through him. The familar smell of cinnamon and butterscotch, and fire. He looked up from his seat to catch her passing her paws over her fluffy body with a casual flourish. Scented steam flew from her fur and soaking clothes. 

The rush was almost too much, Peter bent in half to rest his head on his fists above his knees as hunger shook his body. Toriel let out a pleasant sing-song sigh of relief as she used the towel on what was left of her now simply mildly damp fur instead of utterly drenched fur. But even between straightening her fur and clothes, Peter caught those amethyst eyes shoot measuring glances at him.

Peter almost jumped out of his skin as the pink towel was in his face again, did he fall asleep? Toriel frowned visibly, a difficult thing for a boss monster. 

"Ah, thanks" Peter mumbled, going to grab the towel. He wasn't expecting to be tugged up and scrutinized.

With fear and shame in his eyes he met hers. Toriel, the one person he felt wouldn't judge him. Peter managed opened his mouth, but under her withering gaze his throat dried and his voice died. She let out a snort and deposited him back into the chair as she sat back down. The disgust on her face was so visible, it seemed to reflect on every surface besides his own dirty jeans so he burned holes into them. Burning tears started to well up from some deep place he thought was dead after these long months. A flash of chromed steel appeared in his memory...

He gripped his knees and his teeth clicked in his empty mouth.

Peter heard and felt the arrival of the bus as the air brakes hissed and a rush of warm air and huddled bodies slowly filed reluctantly into the streets. He heard the crisp click of heels and felt the space beside him open. He looked, finding his bag missing. He swung his head up, seeing Toriel casually hauling his duffle into the bus. 

"YOUNG MAN, Come." She snapped, that near instinctual call of a teacher or reprimanding a child made him stand before he could even protest. His feet found their way to the bus. 

Toriel smiled warmly to the driver and shoved her ticket into the slot twice before sitting swiftly in the nearest open row with his bag. Peter filed behind her, taking the seat across from her like a whipped pup. He could see her hands balled into fists, claws flexing in a rhythm. Whenever he met her eyes she glared daggers, killing any arguments he had. 

Her fury radiated off her in waves, every glance his direction reignited the disgust and anger. Peter managed to take a deep breath, pulling himself up enough to manage a scruffy smile. 

"Hello Ms. Murder" he forced out.

He had known her for...shit so long. How long had he dated Areil? Too long. But he knew Toriel before that, the kindly mother down the block. All the kids grew up in their neighborhood knowing her...and her daughter. Areil, a spitfire who would do anything that the boys could do and being a monster meant she could. Toriel ended up being what many of the kids would call Mom, at least when their own mothers were out of earshot. Peter was one of the few teens who was legitimately close to Areil and Tori. According to Areil it was to get away from her father, a move Peter could tell she always silently resented her mother for even if the young girl never said so outloud. Toriel tried her best to be...understanding of her daughters interests and habits. Peter always wanted to just sit them down and have the two bull-headed monsters TALK. But neither wanted to listen. They spilled their secrets and exhausted exhales to him. He tried to gently pull them to coming together, or maybe more understanding? Being the "quiet listener", he wasn't very big on talking. A subtle hint here. A quiet push there. But Peter was a teenager, not a therapist. All the gentle pressure in the world wouldn't matter after the night Areil snuck one of her secret "boyfriends" into the house, reeking of weed. 

The block could hear them screaming at each other that night. Areil found her mother hypocritical, smothering and absolutely insufferable. Toriel found her daughter confusing, spiteful, hateful and absolutely unwilling to work with her. The friction that was between them suddenly sparked into a roaring inferno and nothing was safe. Peter barely managed to get there as it started getting physical. Their house burned down that night. According to the fire marshal, it would've been a 4 alarm fire if hadn't been magic.

Peter was the only person Areil told where she was going, because she wanted him to go with her. Being 17 at the time, basically a stupid kid, he agreed. They bounced around until they ended up in the city, lying and working odd jobs until they had enough to get a true place.

The road was long, rough and definitely not what he wanted to do forever, he realized that quickly. But Areil would push him, rush ahead, if she had the one thing going for her it was absolute drive. If she wanted something, nothing would stop her and she would change into whatever she needed to get it. Of course Peter only realized this much much later, once they got their own place and enough stable income to be moderately comfortable.

Up until that point, he truly believed they were in love and their issues would work out. 

The bus lurched to a stop, causing Pete to swing forward and smash his head into the seat in front of him, when had he fallen sleep? Toriel gasped and held out a paw, then slowly retracted it as Peter managed to seethe and rub it away. Her lips pursed together and she huffed, picking up his bag again to start walking to the front. His fingers caught the edge of the bag strap with a gentle tug.

"Toriel, you don't.." Peter whispered, barely audible. 

Toriel flicked her ears over her shoulders and took a deep breath, pulling the bag out of his weakened grip with unfortunate ease "Yes, I do, now Come Inside." 

Her voice was tinged with venom and...a slight pain in her eyes a moment longer before she turned on her heel and stiffly got off the bus. Peter obedient as ever, saw where she had taken him. A small neighborhood, crammed with townhouses and curling circular streets. Toriel walked him around to the one house that had no outward ornamentation and the shortest, strangest curving driveway sitting on a hill. 

Peter looked around, even here he felt too dirty to look at the cars. The nice model homes. He felt wrong, so wrong just being there. He hadn't seen anything this nice in a long time. His skin itched fiercely that only got worse as he approached her front door.

She put his bag down and fished in her purse that had been hanging off her shoulder to pull out her keys. Peter picked up his bag and his feet twisted away from the house. She must have heard the crunch of his shoes because she turned with a swiftness. Peter froze like a deer in headlights...expecting another outburst and ready to bolt. Instead her entire figure dropped and behind the pleading eyes, he saw the incredible sorrow behind them. 

"Please? Come inside, please" She breathed, seeming almost on the verge of tears. 

Peter broke, he knew he was when she opened her mouth. If he had started running before she spoke, he wouldn't have stopped. Some part of him wishes he had. Instead he nodded, and slowly stepped inside.

<>

The silence inside the house was overwhelming.

It was oppressive.

It was dark.

It was cold.

It was...not the woman he had known during his years before adulthood.

Even as Toriel turned on the lights and walked slowly around him to the kitchen, he was frozen in place. Peter managed to breath in slowly, smelling...nothing. Lemon-scented cleaning products and a light fragrance of femininity, perhaps some dander from her fur.

He blinked slowly, taking in the almost spartan decorum. Carpets on wood floor, a sofa, a coffee table,a TV, chairs and a dining room set in another part of the open room. Everything neat. Everything organized and in place. But it wasn't a home. 

It was a model. A snapshot of what a "home" was. No happiness or joy or even hate or sorrow that filled a house with SOMETHING. This was almost worse. A cruel mockery. Peter recognized it with a deep, existential sorrow that made his heart ache.

This was a living tomb. 

This was a place you went when you had given up completely. Nothing else mattered because...simply existing was tiring.

He recognized it from his parents, who were so lock-step into their own comfortable graves, they hadn't even bothered to report him missing when he left.

He recognized it from...

Toriel returned with a mechanical movement, practiced over years. She shut and locked the door and took a long breath. "Right. Upstairs mister, let's show you your room" she nodded, working through her checklist already. 

Peter allowed himself to be steered up the stairs down a hallway until he reached a series of doors. He realized as he passed it, not even the stock photos and picture frames had been taken down. She pushed him towards the door on the right. 

"Bathroom," she said between opening the door lifelessly then the door next to it "linens/towels, sheets, socks and shirts in various sizes" she gestured slowly. Peter might have asked why she kept such things in a hallway closet before she opened up the door next to that. 

"This will be your room..I am...certain it will be adequate to your needs. Should you need anything else, my room is next door" Toriel paused before opening her door to the left and her breath hitched slightly as she clenched her paws. "Please bathe and use whatever you need, I will be downstairs when you are done" she rubbed her head and slid her paws down her ears. She hadn't looked at him the entire time. Not once since they had entered the house.

Peter opened his mouth to start to speak, Toriel was quicker. "We will TALK after dinner" she growled, but even that felt...forced. Then she stepped into her room and shut the door with a firm click.

Peter was left...rather stunned. 

But he was already here. So he put his bag down in the nearly empty room at the end of the bed and grabbed some clothes that weren't nearly as dirty or musty as the others and pulled them out. He paused for a moment staring into the bag. 

The small revolver sat ontop of the wrinkled bag that held his last truly clean clothes next to a box of bullets. His work suits, no longer quite as pressed or as fresh as they were went he managed to grab them from Her apartment, but they were the last piece of him. He saved up, he picked them out himself and bought a good set, enough for a week. His still shiny black shoes were under the bag. He had to close his eyes to try and shut out the memories flooding back. Areil always got prickly when he wore a suit. 

"You look like a corpse" she'd say.

Peter sighed under the water as he scrubbed his head in the shower. The bathroom itself was much like the rest of the house, sterile, fully stocked but with still-in the package everything. He wondered vaguely how he might talk his way out of here, or how to escape. He felt like a rat in a very fancy trap. He didn't deserve this, especially after what he had done to Toriel. He smirked the the old nickname, Ms. MURDER. Most of the kids called her that after she got angry with Areil one day. Having never seen her truly angry, it was scary. It didn't help that Peter was one of the first to realize that her last name "Dremur" rearranged to "Murder". It always made her prickle but somehow brought her out of her anger, like she realized how scary she was. 

Peter looked at himself in the mirror, the dark bags under his eyes, the gaunt face and shaggy hair. Now cleaned of grime and dirt, he could see the monster he had become. Even a far cry from how he was a few months ago, at least he was...fuller then. But time and hard living cut his features, scars and cracked bone under his skin. He hated seeing the thing in the mirror. Even shaving and combing his hair didnt change that pitiful expression. But it did make him feel more human. Dressing properly for the first time in a long time, he sighed, sliding his hands down a few loose wrinkles in his shirt. "...almost normal" he muttered.

Walking downstairs, he blinked as he saw Toriel sitting at the table already. Her hands folded properly and a steaming plate of...something that obviously came out of a TV dinner. His surprise or disappointment must have shown, because she cleared her throat in an embarrassed manner.

"I...haven't been shopping in awhile, eating for one, I ah...didn't see much reason to properly cook for myself" Toriel chuckled with a deep hollow in her voice. 

Dinner passed silent as the grave, a far removed luxury from the honking, yelling or noise he was used to from his stint on the street. But a magic fire-heated Tv Dinner was still far more luxurious than what he had for breakfast, a meal best left forgotten. Every time he seemed to pause, he could see Toriel tense up, a near panic in her features as her eyes were never too far from him. Like watching a long sick pup eat for the first time in a long while, concern, worry, paranoia. It made his stomach twist as he knew what she wanted. 

The only question then was: Was he ready to give her the answers she needed to hear? His tired eyes focused on nothing, buried in the latticework design of the tablecloth as if that would somehow reveal some secret of the universe he missed to put his life on track. But as his mind wandered over words and work, worlds away from the stillness of the dining table, he hadn’t realized she had finished a long time ago and laced her fingers in front of her nose to stare at him. 

The dull glow of her violet eyes shocked him back into reality as she tried to look through him and see the information in his head. When that failed for obvious reasons, she sat back, ran her claws through her fur between her horns and took a long breath in. Peter was almost concerned until she exhaled slowly.

“Please . . . Tell me what happened. Tell me why you left my daughter after all these years and what you were doing at that bus stop?” Toriel said as she resumed sitting with her own textbook proper posture but with a determined lean forward towards him. Once again, Peter felt small, like a reprimanded schoolboy under her gaze. He looked down and with great disappointment realized he still didn’t like the brussel sprouts that had been in the meal, but his plate was empty. The only place to start was the beginning. 

Areil liked to be called Rails once they got on the road. She’d said it felt like a new life, so it deserved a new name. They had been passing a trainyard at the time, so the name choice was obvious to her. At first she suggested Train, because they had just been riding in one, Peter shot that down. But they had few plans, Areil was the dreamer, Peter was merely there to keep those grand plans from crushing them when they fell back down to earth. 

In a way, he thought that this was really all she brought him along for looking back. But at the time, he was consumed with concern, kindness and worry for his friend. Love, in other words, and he did indeed feel love for her but that wasn’t what she meant when she said it pleading with him to leave with her while she climbed half in his window. But it served its purpose, like a loyal puppy he followed her. For 4 years, he followed her from abandoned shack to sleeping in their half-junk car. To renting rooms. Then saving to buy their own place. Well, Her place now. 

To answer Toriel’s question begins 8 months ago, when he was still working nights. Peter winced to remember the morning, a cold one at that. To walk into a home he had felt was theirs, and be immediately assaulted by foreign smells and the presence of strangers was the first shake. He was disturbed to see his home swimming in monsters and humans without any warning. He yelled as one human stumbled passed him and hurled into the empty hallway behind him. The music thumped and blared as he swam through the house, shoulders and tentacles and legs. 

“Rails! RAILS!” he called, his weary voice barely loud enough to be heard over the music. “Hey bro, calm down man, it’s a party yeah!” one monster slurred, laughing like some surferbro. This only increased his irritation. He shoved his way into their bedroom...only to find more insult to his already frayed nerves. Areil laid across their bed with several other monsters, with a thick harsh smell pouring out of the window. They were all in various states of undress, but were lead weights. “Rails? Rails, Wake up, what the hell dude?!” he gasped, trying to gently shake her awake, only to get a drooling groan in response. His irritation and exhaustion boiled over into anger. So he slid back through the crowd and went back to his car on the corner. 

The instant the police arrived, the party-goers scattered. Peter walked into the house after the mayhem died down, ‘Rails’ fuming. Their first large scale fight. They had argued and went back and forth before but she was mad enough to launch her fire at him, for breaking up Her party, calling the cops on Her friends to Her house. She was so pissed, she hadn’t bothered to correct herself and stormed off when he tried to. It was Their house wasn’t it? His tired mind was too fried to make the connection, justifying it. They were tired, he was tired, maybe he overreacted? But two months later, she was pushing him out of Her Room...after he walked in on her and another man. When she appeared again, it wasn’t to talk, or fight, or argue. He was already watching other monsters rummaging through their rooms and kitchen as their own. 

“Oh please, don’t act surprised, we all kept secrets from each other right? Or did you think I somehow didn’t know about your weekly calls to my mother?” Rails snorted out her distinctive crimson colored fire in disgust. Peter had kept in touch with Toriel because she begged and pleaded with him to, much like her daughter had. Toriel just wanted regular updates on her daughter, and him. To make sure they were safe. Peter knew that Rails would see it as just another invasion by her mother into her life and would blame him for allowing it. But here she was, apparently already aware of the conversations, and already made her decision. It was in that moment that Peter knew, she knew the entire time and had replaced him a long time ago. The disgust and rage in his heart broke whatever composure he had, lunging for her. The struggle was brutal, angry and messy. It was also one he couldn’t win. When he whittled down her HP to half, her new roommates stepped in. When they tossed him out, he looked worse than she did. He managed to grab his ‘go-bag’ from the trunk of the car, a left-over instinct from their days as wanderers and couch surfers. A few months later he had lost his job, being unable to sleep in bed or even in a house meant he couldn’t sleep well. No access to a proper shower he could get away with for slightly longer with his leftover colognes and deodorant. But even that ran out after too long. So for the first time, he wandered the streets alone. He didn’t really have a direction, he didn’t get to grab his emergency cash or Toriel’s phone. He didn’t even realize he had somehow made it so far to be near where Toriel was living. “CityBurg” well at least bad names were consistent among monsters. 

“...I barely remember the last few months” Peter sighed, rubbing his head slowly “I don’t remember getting here, being in the bus or why I was here in the first place, I was just...wandering.”

Peter groaned and shook his head, his eyes burning. Toriel let out a shaking sigh and nodded slowly, her eyes darting from side to side as she connected the pieces of information in her mind. She swallowed and smiled “I called after you missed our weekly call. I talked to her . . .briefly. She just told me you left, that ‘our game’ was up” Toriel laughed weakly before glancing at him before reaching down and pulling a shaking hand up and gingerly placing the gun on the table. Peter recoiled and his blood went cold but before he could ask, Toriel continued speaking anger tinting her words.

“He’s gone, Dead probably, Your lackie probably shot himself by now’, that’s what she said. . .” Toriel’s voice never sounded so hollow, haunted. Her eyes were wild as her fur started to bristle and tears glistened in her eyes, she couldn’t take her eyes off the gun as if it might come to life at any moment and shoot them both dead. Peter easily guessed that wasn’t all Areil said, she probably laughed as she said it.

“Tori--” Peter wheezed softly, looking up at her. 

The strike of her paw across his face rang in his ears, but the look of cold fury on her face as she did it was a freeze frame in his mind. Hard, emotionless eyes and the ghost of snarl across her lips with those long fangs of hers bared a little more. Peter froze in place, the white-hot sting fading into cold ache and he could tell her claws had lightly raked across his cheek from the lines of warmth spreading out from the hit. 

“I thought that for months, grieved and tried everything I could think of to find you, but after your job let you go..” Toriel gasped. Peter opened mouth to say something, but was rapidly engulfed in soft fur and ripped out of his seat. Her paws gripped his clothes as she squeezed him so hard he thought his eyes would pop out of their sockets. Out of instinct, his hands shoved and pushed away in panic...until Toriel softly began stroking his head. For the second time that night and far too many nights before that, he broke. Peter managed to remain silent until he heard her whispering, forcing her words out through a tight throat.

“I knew you weren’t gone...I knew you weren’t gone” Toriel whispered, over and over again, even as hot, rolling tears flooded down his neck and shoulders and she buried her nose into his collar. 

Peter clung to her and wept, hard, shaking sobs as his fingers balled into fists in her suit jacket. He wheezed out a soft scream, he couldn’t make the noise he wanted to, almost 5 years lost to a woman he loved but who never loved him. The pain he could never get back. 

Somewhere between anguish and despair, and his vocal cords too unused for too long. He felt like his ribs would crack from the strain.


End file.
